


Alec Trevelyan V the Space Time Continuum

by LooselybasedonUk



Category: Doctor Who, James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Douglas Adams, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 16:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooselybasedonUk/pseuds/LooselybasedonUk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plot Bunnies go wild –  the prompt</p><p>What if two of your favourite, far too often overlooked secondary characters meet and get the chance for a slice of the action?</p><p>Ladies and Gentlemen I give you the adventure of OO6 Alec Trevelyan (James Bond) and Professor Urban Chronotis (Dr Who/Douglas Adams) which feature Space! Time! Pubs! Dead poets! Historical inaccuracies by the bucket load.</p><p>Basically I got distracted from the story I'm suppose to be finishing and wrote this instead</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alec Trevelyan V the Space Time Continuum

Location – a Flat in London . Time Zone - Current

Alec Trevelyan is having a bad dream or rather having the bad dream. It's always the same dream; he's trapped in a world like this one, so close to this one, but profoundly and utterly different. He dreams that hate and fury fill his mind, that scars not his own snake up his skin and seal him into a snarl against the world. He hangs in a void and a man, his best friend and yet not James, lets him fall into pain and death. And worse than this, even as Alec falls, grasping at the air frantically, he knows he deserves this.

Location – Cairo. Time Zone - Current

Alec Trevelyan really hates teenagers. He hates their stroppiness, their belief in their invincibility, their stupid floppy hair, the way they moan on and on about exam stress. Alec will never, under any circumstances, be convinced that giving them access to nuclear weaponry is a good idea. However the British Government seems to think otherwise, which is why Alec Trevelyan, is in Cairo crouching in the bloody dust as an overwrought teenager snipes at him from the top of the Cairo Museum of Antiquities.  
And to make matter worse, there is now a bloody civilian wandering casually through the kill zone. Briefly Alec considers letting the scruffy figure who is apparently so engrossed in his book that he hasn’t notice the sodding bullets bouncing round him, carry on. He is curious as to how long it will take for the man to notice his circumstances and react appropriately. But instead he rolls his eyes, breaks cover, and runs, scoping the elderly man under his arm like a rugby ball as he does . He dives and flings the man behind a handy wall as he scrambles back into a crouch to return fire. Apparently the change of position is fortuitous and Alex is able to put a solid shot through Rider’s shoulder. At some stage the comms earpiece linking him back to Q had broken, so Alec phones in to the local boys because he is damned if he is going to escorted agent ‘I have too much homework, spots and no date to the prom’ , back to England himself. That done Alec turns to have a few sharp words with his oblivious citizen; the man coughs, sits up, peers at Alec over his glasses, makes a precise annotation in the book and then closes it. He peers at Alec again. Alec looks at the man in front of him; his first hurried impression had been of age, scruffiness and boniness. Now as the gun fire fades away, Alec is able to note the fiercely alive dark eyes; twitchy long fingers and eyebrows with individual hairs so long and thick that that Alec wouldn't have been surprised to learn that their owner was able to pick up deep space radio waves on them.  Alec grins, raises an eyebrow, and prepares to make a witty and coolly ironic remark, when the man speaks first.

'Alec ‘said the man he'd never met before. His accent refined English. It reminded Alec of the Quartermaster. He pats him affectionately on the cheek.  
‘Lovely to see you again, dear boy! Did you sort out that trouble with Oscar?’ He peers at Alec over his glasses.  
Alec is aware than his mouth is hanging open – this is not going as expected  
‘Goodness, I knew letting you two with in ten foot of each other was a terrible idea. ‘The man continues ‘Velociraptors in Cambridge, really, you two, I had to blame it on undergrad hi-jinks.’  
The man smiles with obvious affection and shakes his head.  
Oh thinks Alec, a nutter. Well that does at least explain the lack of attention to fairly basic safety precautions. But not how he knows his name. Alec opened his mouth again to form a question but the man continued to speak.  
‘No. Don't tell me’ he says ‘what you young people get up to is no concern of mine.’ He chuckles.  
‘So when are we?’ He looks expectantly at Alec who feels horribly put on the spot by the question.  
‘Cairo ?’ he found himself answering uncertainly . The man rolls his eyes and again Alec is reminded of his Quartermaster.  
‘Really Alec‘he said’ I thought you'd grown out of this now, when are we?’ he repeats  
Alec looks at his watch.  
‘23:00 local time’ he tries. The man tuts at him. Alec finds himself feeling like a young child who has horribly disappointed an elderly relative; it was not at all a usual feeling for a man who had gained his 00 license ten years ago. Alec is profoundly glad that his earpiece is damaged and Q isn’t getting to hear him stuttering around like a newbie. The man was frowning at him again, he leaning in close and looks searchingly into Alec’s eyes.  
‘Oh my dear boy,’ he sighs,’ is this your first time?  Are we …’ the man twisted his fingers in the air, sighed and pulls a battered notepad out of his jacket pocket. He flips through several pages rapidly, looks up, and glances round at the street. Makes an aha! noise of discovery and says  
'Cairo 2013? Is it the Rider Boy? Horrible business, but if MI6 will put so much responsibility on one so young. I mean a paper round yes, but espionage and during term time too -disgraceful' He shook his head at the folly, the looks sharply at Alec 'Oh is it ….’ His words trail off and he grabs Alec’s shoulder with a strong grip.  
‘Alec ‘he said annunciating clearly ‘what does Archangelsk mean to you?’  
Alec frowns. The man is clearly insane and yet, he knows mission details and Alec’s name. Alec has all the finely honed instincts of a 00 agent, he know liars, he know their tells and he'd be prepared to stake his life that this man, this crazy man was somehow not lying about knowing him and knowing him well.  
‘Err, Arkhangelsk? It’s city. In Russia.’  Alec says politely  
‘Oh thank goodness’ says the man, he pats Alec’s shoulder and moves the hand to flutter over his own chest.  
’Really, you are enough to stop my hearts, Alec. Don't do that again. I thought for one horrible moment you were him. I really hate seeing you when you are him. Of course it's worse when I'm the other one too.’  
‘Is it?’ Asks Alec rather at a loss  
‘Of course, dear boy’ his rather startling companion agrees. ’Don't you remember last time? Dear me, I've never been able to look at the giraffe without feeling guilty and I never did work out what your problem was with the dodo.’His eyebrow rises as he waits for an explanation.  
Alec shrugs apologetically  
‘Well, they were rather silly looking creatures’ he offers.  
He has lost track of this conversation. In fact Alec is pretty sure he'd never actually been on track with it at all. And if this conversation had ever had a track Alec is prepared to bet it started at a broken down old gate with a sign saying road unsafe beyond this point, on it.He puts the heel of his palm against his forehead, closes his eyes and rubs. He’s getting a headache. In his head a voice, sounding suspiciously like M, the old M, chides him. Come on get it together 006 she snaps. Alec wonders what was wrong with his life that apparently M is his inner voice and oh yes, he is currently talking to a mad man in the middle of a battle ground. James never seemed to have these problems but him, every single bloody time. He opens his eyes to find the mad man looking at him kindly.  
‘Tell you what, dear heart,’ he says ‘what say, we discuss this over a pint?’  
Alec nods rather weakly and politely he stretches out his hand to help the old man up but he scrambles nimbly enough to his feet without Alec’s help.  
’It the pub on the heath you prefer isn't it? He says.’ If we hurry we can catch that young poetic lad, you know the one with the cough. I think I owe him a pint -O, for a draught of vintage! And all that, I'll give you a lift back shall I? I'm just parked round the corner’ with that he darts away, down a nearby alleyway.  
Right thinks Alec as he reflectively checks his gun, activates the emergency locating device and shrugs his shoulders rapidly up and down a few times. Head back in the game Alec, he tells himself. Clearly this man knows things that he shouldn’t and that made him a potential threat. All he had to do was treat this like the agent he was. No confusion. No weird unexplained fondness. Facts are what Alec needs now. And if he has to rough the old man up a bit to get them, so be it. Alec let the focus, the cold hard peacefulness which makes him such a good 00 agent fill his mind then 006 takes a deep steadying breath, steps in to alley way and … gets his first view of the time machine.  
Location – London. Time Zone - the Past (1819)  
It was May 1819 and John Keats was enjoying a pint in the garden of the Spaniards Inn. Opposite him was one of the strangest men he had ever met and Keats had just come from a late lunch with Shelley so his standard for strange was pretty high to begin with. Reg was accompanied by a tall, well shaped and somewhat peculiarly dressed companion. John was beginning to wonder if he, the companion, was simple, when they had arrived; the man had looked at him with amazement and muttered Queue! in place of a greeting. Now he was sat at a bench starting around him as if he’d never been in a pub before or perhaps he’s never been in England. Maybe he was Spanish. Wasn’t Que something like, what, in Spanish? He mused to himself. Either way it was a great pity because however strange the trews he was wearing, Keats had rarely seen anyone fill them quite so pleasingly. That arse deserved an ode of its own he thought. Keats who had been in rather a melancholy mood up to this point, sat back and allowed himself to enjoy the view. Overhead a nightingale sang on unheeded.  
Time travel, Reg explained was quite simple if one stopped considering time as a linear and one way process. Time was in fact a giant ball of wool, all knotted up. The art to time travel was just to find a loose loop of the wool that you could sort of latch onto and pull a bit. Not all of time could be loosened, some bits were too tightly bound and some bits, weirdly, were missing. Reg suggest that attack by giant temporal kittens may be responsible for those pieces and Alec had no idea whether he was joking or not. No, the hard part of time travel Reg concluded was working out the phone bill. Alec, who thought he’d been following the explanation quite well up to this point, gave up. He sat in the pub garden and looked around him. Any minute now Alec hoped, Bond would come bursting through a door and this would all turn out to be some really strange hallucinations bought on by someone pumping massive amounts of drugs into his system as they fished for top secret information. As torture goes, in the meantime it was considerably less painful than any he’d previously encountered and much more entertaining. Reg had an elaborate back story concocted. All Alec had to do was believe that the man next to him, a man who had lost his glasses three times in the hour Alec had know him, had perfected time travel. The effort he’d put into convincing Alec that he was now sitting in England whilst across the table John Keats, who looked remarkably like his Quartermaster and who was openly ogling him, was truly extraordinary . Even so all Alec had to do, he knew, was wait for his capturer to make the slip, they always made a slip. Then Alec could swing into action and escape, from this, well, rather nice pub garden. But in the meantime Reg continued to weave his fantastic tale around them and Alec sipped his pint whilst John Keats stretched out his legs and ran a stockinged foot up and down Alec’s calf under the table.

At some point in the future or past depending on the direction you were looking at it, Alec and Reg who was apparently a Professor at St Cedd University Cambridge, had formed an alliance which saw Alec undertaking missions to great importance to the fabric of the space time continuum at Reg’s direction. If for a moment, this was true Alec had to wonder if it showed a startling lack of imagination on his part. Essentially his hobby appeared to be almost exactly the same as his actual job, if one swapped Britain for Time and M for Reg. Apparently Reg and Alec had been incredibly successful at sorting out a few minor hiccups in the early 19 Century. John Keats winked at him over the top of his tankard.  
But expounded Reg, Alec had to remember that regardless of their good work, time remained jumbled and sometimes things just happened no matter what they did. Take poor Oscar’s case, here Reg paused and patted Alec hand sympatically  
‘I know you get terribly upset about Ozzy’ he said ‘ we both do- but you know as well as I do that most of 1896 is on lockdown – there is nothing we can do and well it works out well in the end does it? ‘  
‘Err does it?’ Alec asked  
‘Of course ‘said Reg airily. But as that very pert young thing says, spoilers.’  
Reg seemed to lose himself for a moment in thought of the pert young thing for who the word ‘spoilers’ was apparently something of catchphrase. This was fortunate because beside him Alec gave a start and shot a wide eyed look at John Keats. Alec found himself reversing his previous hopes, if James burst in dramatically now, he’d been pretty disturbed to find Alec with the  
astonishing nimble toes of the Q look alike across the table pressing into his groin. Bond had been quite clear that is anyone was going to be pressing themselves against any part of Q it would be Bond himself and he’d be doing it exclusively. Alec had no idea on where Bond stood on what Q’s time twin could or couldn’t do and with whom. And well , that was a thought right there, imagine for one moment, that this was all true, that all of time was accessible, imagine what Alec could see, the events he could experience, all the people he could … met. Alec smiled to himself and spread his thighs a little wider to allow Keats’ foot better access; he was beginning to see potential of the situation.  
Location – a flat in London. Time Zone - Current  
James Bond burst dramatically into the room. His gun was drawn and he had his best mindless killer look on. He levelled his gun at the unidentified lump in Alec Trevelyn’s bed.  
‘Oh for fuck sake!’ It muttered and turned over to bury its head under the pillow. Bond advanced on the bed side cabinet and secured its’ firearm. He kept the gun firmly on the figure under the covers.  
‘Alec?’ he said.  
The lump swore. 

Alec Trevelyan had gone missing 12 hrs earlier. First his comms ear piece had gone down. The ear piece broke on 00 agents with monotonous regularity so this wasn’t particularly alarming. James himself had broken upward of a dozen of the things in a two month period until Q had threatened to plant a comm link directly in the centre of James’ fucking brain if he didn’t take more care of them. He’d then muttered darkly that actually there probably wasn’t enough matter to anchor it on there and he’d have to think of somewhere more painful to put it. His Quartermaster was quite the little flirt. But after Trevelyan’s comms had failed, his emergency tracker had been triggered and then it and the sub-dermal transmitter had suddenly stopped. Q’s quick and dirty hack into some highly illegal CCTV networks had shown Alec following an unidentified man into a blind alley and then apparently just disappearing. One of the longest nights of Bond’s life had followed. M16 was frantic. Was Alec dead? Was he compromised? What the hell had happened to him? The entire typist pool, which Bond had to remember to call Admin Support grades now, was so distraught than they had to be forcibly subdued by the 00 trainees.  
004 who both Alec and James had often agreed was a knob-head of the highest order, told anyone who would listen that Alec had gone dark side ‘ what with his bad blood and all.’ Bond was rather proud that Q had managed to break the agent’s nose before his minions had dragged him off. If he’d been there of course, he’d have gone for 00 Bell-ends neck, so just as well he hadn’t been really.  
Then an hour ago, all of Trevelyan’s life signs had bobbed back up on screen. The private security alarm with which Q had modified the front door of James and Alec’s shared flat bleeped once and was switched off. James had shot one quick bleak look at Q and raced here. Now he approached the bed, gun out and began the complicated process of confirm that the Alex shaped object in the bed was in fact really Alec Trevelyan.

‘Name, number and situation report.’ He barked.  
‘Dear god’ the figure moaned ‘it’s me, you twat and if you don’t shut the fuck up and let me sleep I swear to god, James, I will take you down. ‘  
Well thought Bond, that all checked out. But maybe a second test was called for. He poked the duvet wrapped bundle with the barrel of his gun.  
He easily blocked the long leg which swept out from under the covers before it was able kicked him in the back of his knees. But he failed to avoid the duvet over the head. And the subsequent rugby tackle which carried him to the floor. Bond managed to get a hand free and grab a handful of Alec’s hair. He pulled viciously. Alec punched him on the side. Bond bucked his torso upward and Alec sat on his stomach heavily. Bond pulled at the handful of hair again and Alec swore in Russian. This potentially diverting little scuffle was interrupted by a polite cough from the door way. James freed his head from the duvet burrito and Alec looked toward the door from his position straddling Bond’s swaddled mid-drift.  
‘Do you two need a minute?’ Q asked politely ‘I could always wait outside in the car ‘  
James looked at Alec and Alec looked at James. They both grimaced  
‘No, you’re alright ‘said Alec as he stumbled up from the floor.  
Q looked at James, who stood up, and jerked the duvet away. He threw it in Alec’s general direction  
‘It’s definitely, Alec.’ James said.  
‘Well thank god for your delicate and finely honed deduction skills Bond.’ Said Q. Alec grinned at James, who ignored both men, for straighten his cuff links. Q turned to stare at Alec. He looked staggeringly unimpressed.  
‘006 report’ he snapped crisply.  
‘Sir’ said Alec. He pulled himself to attention. ‘Target was acquired. Rider is in the hands of the local contact for rapid retrieval. Mission completed and 006 reporting for duty, Sir’  
Q looked at Alec witheringly  
‘And that’s it is it?’ He said. Alec tried his affable but baffled smile on Q  
‘Sir?’ He said again  
Q rolled his eyes and marched across the room right into Alec’s personal space. Although Alec had a good two inches of height on the Quartermaster and considerably more muscle he found the man just for the moment, alarmingly threatening.  
‘I expect a full and detailed report explaining how you managed to switch off all of your tracking devices mid missions and disappear on us for 12 hours, on my desk by this afternoon.’ Q hissed at him. His message delivered, he turned and marched out of the flat.  
Alec gulped at little and turned to look at James imploringly. James smiled at him.  
‘Just remember, I saw him first’ he said. He patted Alec on the shoulder and turned to follow Q. At the door he stopped.  
‘Oh and Alec?’ Bond paused and looked back at Trevelyan with clear affection in his eyes  
‘Yes ?’ Alec said  
‘Next time’ continued Bond ’make sure you’re wearing some pyjamas will you?’  
Then he was gone.  
Alec looked down at himself. Right he thought. It had been a weird couple of hours all-round. Bloody odd dreams something about time travel and a being goosed by a romantic poet. Alec crawled back into his bed and pulled the duvet over himself. He needed his sleep; he’d deal with everything else later.  
As Alec Trevelyan drifted back to sleep, a breeze from the open doorway ruffed the scruffy piece of parchment rolled up and shoved into the pocket of his trousers. Barely visible and in terrible scratchy handwriting, the words ‘A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its lovliness increases; it will never Pass; into nothingness How I long to kiss your Spanish arse and with my hand grasp: At your lovliness. Oh let me but once …  
The rest of the verse was hidden in the tight furls of paper.


End file.
